


A Thousand Hollow Words

by Regann



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Community: ff_land, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regann/pseuds/Regann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five conversations Jecht had with Summoners on his journey through Spira.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Hollow Words

I. _Pass beyond the waking and walk into daylight..._  
  
After his stay in the Bevelle prison, Jecht figured any lodging would be better, but Braska's chambers in Bevelle are nice under any circumstances. The main problem with them is that they aren't _home_ and Jecht has already begun to get the idea that home is a lot farther than over the mountains and plains that Braska described. He gets the feeling that he's removed from Zanarkand, from his family, in a way that can never be breached and it's one of the most depressing things he's ever had to contemplate in his life.  
  
Not for the first time, he wishes he had some booze.  
  
Instead, he's been left in Braska's chambers while the summoner and his other guard -- Auron, young and idealistic and _bitchy_ \-- have hared off to attend to whatever duties summoners and guards have before they leave on their big pilgrimage thing. Jecht's still not clear on exactly what's about to happen but bumming around with Braska sounds like a better idea that hanging around Bevelle any longer than he has to.  
  
At first, Jecht thinks he's alone in Braska's brightly-colored abode but, after a few minutes during which he's collapsed lazily on what passes for a couch in Bevelle, he senses eyes on the back of his head and he turns around as the uneasy feeling creeps up his neck. And when he does, there is a pair of eyes -- one green, one blue, fixed in a small, round face that peers at him from behind one of the room's fancy pillars.  
  
He's reminded of one of the many things Braska told them in their first hushed conversation and it's the fact that Braska has a daughter, one roughly his own kid's age. The little girl watching him now with her unusual eyes looks about there, seven years or so, even though he's only judging by the slice of her small body that isn't blocked by the pillar. He twists around at the waist until he's looking her in the eyes. "Hey there," he says.  
  
"Hi," she says back. Quiet, but not whispering. "Are you Sir Jecht?"  
  
"More or less," he tell hers, surprised someone, probably Braska, had taken the time to fill her in, and a little amused by the "Sir" she's added. He assumes it must be a respect thing.  
  
"From Zanarkand?" she asks next.  
  
"That, too," he nods.  
  
She comes around the pillar a little, but not much. Her short brown hair falls around her face. "And you're going on the pilgrimage with my father and Sir Auron?"  
  
Jecht pulls himself up off the sofa and walks around it, then hunkers down near the pillar so that he and Yuna are closer to the same height. "You've got quite the average there, kid," he tells her. "Three for three."  
  
She smiles shyly in answer to the grin he gives her.  
  
Then he raises an eyebrow. "Are you planning on coming out from behind that pillar any time soon?"   
  
Yuna finally creeps out from around it until she's standing in front of him, little hands hidden by the long sleeves of her dress. Then she does a little bow and gives him the blitzball sign with her hands, which he's learned is some kind of polite thing in Spira. "Pleased to meet you," she says in a rush.  
  
Jecht can feel the smile on his face get bigger because she's probably the cutest little kid he's ever seen. He doesn't feel bad about ranking her over Tidus if only because Tidus spends most of his time these days yelling at him and aiming his practice blitzballs at Jecht's head while he naps. Jecht figures it doesn't make him a horrible father to relegate the brat to #2 for awhile.  
  
His smile slips when he remembers that he might never see his son again. But he fakes it a second later when he notices Yuna's tiny frown in response. "Nice to meet you, too, Yuna," he says and her eyes widen like he knows magic when he uses her name. "Your dad told me all about you."  
  
"You're really from the holy city, Zanarkand?" she asks him as her apprehension starts to melt away a little. He's always been good with kids -- at least until his own came along.   
  
"That's what they tell me," he says, shifting his position so that he's sitting cross-legged on the floor. "But it didn't look much holy when I was there the last time."  
  
"No one's ever seen it," she tells him.   
  
"I thought summoners like your dad went there on this pilgrimage thing?" he asks.  
  
She shrugs. "Most don't make it."  
  
Jecht doesn't really like the implications of that statement but he decides it's not a proper conversation to have with a sweet, timid seven-year-old. "Well, we will," he promises. "And we'll tell you all about it when we get back." She doesn't look convinced, so he adds, "Or I can tell you about it now. At least, what it was like when I was there last."  
  
"What did you do there?" she asks after a moment.  
  
"Lots of stuff," he says. "But mostly, I played blitzball."  
  
Again, little Yuna's eyes light up. Apparently, blitzball is the shared language between Spira and his Zanarkand. "I love blitzball," she exclaims.  
  
"Yeah?" Jecht laughs. "So does my kid. We used to play all the time. He's not as good as me, but he's still scrawny." He puffs out his chest a little, a bravado that's second-nature to him. "But me? I'm the best."  
  
"Really?" Yuna asks with all the gravity that only a kid can bring to a question like that.  
  
"Really," he tells her with another smile, even though there's an ache growing in his chest. It's an ache that little Yuna both helps and hurts, the place in him that worries he'll never seen Tidus again. He ignores it and focuses on keeping that look of wonder on the little girl's face. "Where I come from, we play in big stadiums that stay lit up, day or night. And only the best, like me, play in the tournaments."  
  
"Have you won?" she asks. "A tournament?"  
  
"I've won them all," he tells her, which is a _slight_ exaggeration, he'll admit. "No one can beat me and the Sublimely Magnificent Jecht Shot Mark III."  
  
Yuna frowns. "What?"  
  
"That's what I call my shot," he explains. "My signature shot. No one else can do it. First you, you know, you..." Jecht quickly realizes that it's not something he can explain without visual aids. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a blitzball, would you?"  
  
"Yes!" She says before she spins around, disappearing behind one of the closed doors. She comes back a moment later with a ball. He holds out his hand for it but she hesitates. "Father said I can't play in the house," she explains. "We'll have to go outside."  
  
"And I can show you there?"  
  
She nods, still clutching the blitzball.  
  
"Well, then let's go," Jecht says as he hauls himself to his feet. He's been starting to feel his age in his bones for a while and he doubts he's got many more years in him of sitting on the floor. One he's upright and has worked the kinks out of his back, he offers his hand to Yuna. "Lead the way."  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Yuna wraps her small fingers around his. "This way," she says, like the polite little hostess she is. Hand-in-hand, they head toward another door that seems to lead outside from the way light is pouring in from it.   
  
Jecht lets himself focus on that moment instead of thinking about all the ones like it he might miss if he doesn't find his way home and soon.  
  
**  
  
II. _For a long time, we had forgotten how to go forward..._  
  
This pilgrimage of Braska's is nothing to sneeze at, something Jecht learned quickly once they set out from Bevelle. But even more than the lightning zaps on the Thunder Plains and the Flans that are ridiculously hard to kill since none of them know much Black Magic, what Jecht hates most is the attitude they get from the other Summoners they meet along the way. It seems Braska wasn't lying about him and Auron being on the wrong side of some kind of controversies and it's a chill they feel every step of the way, at every temple they have to stop and pray at. Since these people don't exactly mean much to Jecht, he really doesn't care but he notices again and again how Auron tenses and frowns whenever someone delivers a rebuff, even if it's just at Jecht.   
  
For his own, Jecht wouldn't mind letting loose with a few good, old-fashioned punches but Braska frowns on that kind of thing.  
  
They're at the Djose Temple now and Jecht's thrilled -- not -- to be faced with more lightning. At least this time it seems contained to the temple's theatrics and not likely to throw him to the ground with a nasty shock, so he cools his heels outside of the Chamber of the Fayth with only a stone-faced Auron for company. He already knows that Auron will complain if he tries to do anything but stand and be quiet, so Jecht leans against one curving wall of the antechamber and sighs, wondering how long it'll take _this_ time. Idly, he can't help but wonder what exactly goes on between a summoner and a fayth in one of these prayer sessions.  
  
He's not really sure how long they've been waiting when they hear footsteps coming from the stairs leading up from the Cloister of Trials. They exchange a concerned look and they draw toward the entrance way, waiting to see who approaches.  
  
It's a woman, alone, dressed in the fancy robes that Jecht has come to associate with Yevon and summoners. Her robes are in shades of green and her headdress -- another thing Jecht has begun to connect to summoners -- covers her ears and a lot of her hair.   
  
"Who are you?" he asks because Auron is too polite to cut to the chase when it's anybody but Jecht.  
  
She gives them both an unfathomable look. "I'm Belgemine," she says. "Of Djose."  
  
Auron straightens so Jecht assumes that means something to him. "Lady Belgemine," he says with a bow. "Where is your guardian?"  
  
"The road has been hazardous," she says. "I have no more guardians."  
  
Both he and Auron understand her meaning. "You plan to continue on?" Auron asks. "Try again?"  
  
To Jecht, she looks a little scattered, like the words they're speaking don't quite have the right meaning when they hit her ears. "I'm...not sure," she says. "I'm not sure of much at the moment."  
  
Auron sends Jecht another look, all solemn and concerned. Belgemine seems less than steady on her feet as Auron pulls Jecht away. "I don't think she's well," he says. "I'm going to go down and find an acoytle to attend her."  
  
Jecht shakes his head. "You stay here, I'll deal with her," he says. "I'll take her back outside and I'll wait for you and Braska there."  
  
After a moment of deliberation, probably in which Auron wonders if it's safe to trust Jecht with the task, Auron nods. "Very well." He turns back to the summoner. "Lady Belgemine, I believe it would be wise if you rested before you attempted to speak to the fayth. Don't you?"  
  
Belgemine touches a hand to her forehead. "You're probably right."  
  
Jecht steps forward. "Come on," he says, gently taking her by the arm. "I'll walk you out of the Cloister."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Belgemine doesn't resist as Jecht helps her down the stairs toward the last chamber of the Trials and it's worrying, he decides. She still seems dazed and almost ghostly in the way her limbs float through the air. She doesn't seem _real_ in a way Jecht can't explain.  
  
"Why did you drag yourself through the Cloister, anyway?" he asks.   
  
"I don't remember," she tells him. "One minute, I was on the road and then my guardian, he...and there was a Sinspawn. We..." She shakes her head. "It's not clear, I'm sorry."  
  
"It sounds like you definitely need some rest," Jecht says.  
  
"I'm not even sure what day it is," she admits. "How long since I passed here last?"  
  
Jecht doesn't have an answer for her so he shrugs, even as he continues to guide her through the Cloister. He can't help but feel there's something horribly wrong with her but it's nothing he's encountered before. Spira is still strange to him, so he doesn't know how to explain his concerns, but they're there, an icy dread whenever he looks at her too long.   
  
They reach the door that leads to the temple and Jecht pauses. "Can you make it out by yourself?" he asks.   
  
She nods. "Yes, thank you." She attempts a bow but sways on her feet.  
  
"No offence," Jecht begins as he offers her a steadying hand, "But if I were you, I think I'd give up on this pilgrimage thing entirely."  
  
For a moment, everything seems to still and even though he can't quite believe what he sees, Belgemine's entire form goes blurry around the edges, like she's shrouded in pyreflies. Jecht blinks and, when he does, the image is gone. There's just Belgemine, looking pale and tense. But for the first time since they've met, her eyes meet his and he sees a determination burning there that is almost unnatural. "No," she tells him, and even her voice sounds stronger than it had. "Sin has to be defeated. And I have pledged myself to doing so."  
  
"Whatever you say," Jecht says, still a little shaken by what he thought he saw. "Good luck."  
  
She bows. "The same to you, Sir Jecht," she tells him and he raises an eyebrow at the eerie calm that has overtaken her. He watches her disappear into the temple and shakes his head before he turns away, heading back to where he waits for his own summoner to emerge from his latest trial.  
  
**  
  
III. _We live in a fading echo of time left us by the destroyer..._  
  
There has been many trials and tribulations during their pilgrimage, things Jecht didn't understand because Yevon was so foreign to him that he could find it nothing but incomprehensible. There has been things he probably should've, could've understood but his own stubbornness wouldn't let him, not when it challenged things he held dear. And there were truths that he ignored for as long as possible, ones that threatened to tear him apart if he thought about them too long. He doesn't know under which of those categories this latest revelation falls but he thinks it might belong to all three.  
  
"That's it," he says, his voice a growl. "I'm done. _We're_ done. We're going back."  
  
"Jecht!" Auron says sharply.  
  
Braska just shakes his head. "We're doing no such thing."  
  
"So...what?" he asks, crossing his arms and glaring over at his summoner -- his _friend_. It's something of a novelty to find himself with one at all, let alone having befriended two men so different from himself. But they are his friends and Jecht refuses to let them do something as stupid as continue this pilgrimage. "I'm just supposed to continue on helping you get to the end of this so _you can die_?"  
  
Braska sighs. "That's the sacrifice a summoner makes to stop Sin."  
  
"Well, it's a stupid sacrifice," Jecht tells him. "Do you hear me? Dumb. If you had told me I was joining a death march, I would've rather rotted away in jail."  
  
At that Braska's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry, Jecht," he says. "My intention wasn't to trick you."  
  
"Like hell it wasn't," Jecht disagrees for no good reason other than the fact that he's _pissed_. No one had ever let on until now that the end of this Final Summoning involved Braska dying. "What's the point of me and Auron being guardians if we're letting you walk into certain death?"  
  
"Because dying on the road at the claws of a fiend is a meaningless passing," Braska says. "But giving one's life to bring about the Final Summoning brings hope and peace and safety to everyone in Spira. It is a blessing."  
  
Jecht wants to punch something, just hearing Braska say things like that, that he's willing to greet death smiling for such a small chance. "But doesn't Sin always come back?" he argues. "You guys have been doing this hundreds of years now and it doesn't stop."  
  
"But maybe this time, it will," Braska explains. "Maybe this is the time when we've atoned enough that Sin will be defeated forever. Death isn't so difficult to accept when that might be my reward."  
  
Jecht shivers a little in the wind, although he thinks it has little to do with the chill in the air. They're back in Macalania, again, back to following the path through the crystalline trees of its forest and the winds that whips around them comes off the snowy hills of the temple. Even though he's much too far away, Jecht imagines he can hear the lamenting voice of the fayth's song in his ears and he understands why the fayth's sorrow has turned everything to ice as she mourns. He feels the same cold in his heart at the idea that he's been led all this way, that he's led Braska all this way, and every step the summoner took he knew would be his last in that place. Jecht's angry, at himself and at Braska, at his friend's acceptance and his own willful ignorance.   
  
He figures he probably hasn't picked the best place to have this conversation, but this is where he finally understood all the pieces of damning evidence that has been building, each little uncomfortable exchange and glance that didn't make any sense. This is where he realized that whatever celebrations might be had at Sin's defeat, Braska wouldn't be around to see them.  
  
"You have Yuna to think about," Jecht tries. "She's already lost her mother. You're going to let her lose you, too?"  
  
It's the first time he words actually seem to affect Braska. "I want her to live in a world that's free of Sin's threat," he says. "I want her to live in a world where she's free from the stigma of her parentage, from the disgrace I brought down on her. I want her to have a chance to be happy, Jecht, and how can she be when she has to watch the people she loves die around her?"  
  
"How can she be when she has to live knowing that you died for _her_?" Jecht retorts. "No amount of peace will make that easier to bear."  
  
"She'll understand," Braska says. "Just like you do."  
  
"I _don't_ ," Jecht reminds him.  
  
Braska's smile is small and sad. "You do," he says agin. "There's nothing you wouldn't do for your son, is there? Nothing you wouldn't give up or endure?"  
  
"Of course not," Jecht says.  
  
"Or even just to see him again, talk to him," Braska continues.  
  
"We've established that I love my kid, Braska," Jecht cuts in.   
  
"How is this any different?" his friend asks. "You would die for Tidus, just as I would die for Yuna. But my death, like this, can make sure that no one else has to die for their sons or daughters, or brothers or sisters. For anyone. My life, for all of theirs."  
  
" _If_ Sin doesn't come back," Jecht repeats.  
  
Braska sighs and his breath turns to frost. "Even if Sin comes back, there will still be years and years of Calm, in which no one has to die. I am willing to trade those years."  
  
"And you!" Jecht's glare cuts to Auron who stands behind Braska, a silent shadow. "You're okay with letting him do this? You didn't think you should maybe talk him out of it or something?"  
  
"It's Lord Braska's choice," Auron says, but Jecht can see the flicker of doubt in monk's eyes, the same concerns that weigh on Jecht burning in his heart, even though Auron is one of the most faithful Yevonites Jecht has come across in Spira. "It is my honor to serve him as he sees fit."  
  
"Oh really?" Jecht snorts.  
  
Auron nods. "Yes, it is. And I plan to follow him until the end."   
  
Jecht doesn't have anything to say; he just makes a disgusted noise and waves an arm at them. If he needed any more proof that this Spira is another world from his Zanarkand, this was it. No one ever thought death was a good idea where he came from, no matter the reason for it.   
  
"What about you, Jecht?" Braska asks after a long silence. "Are you planning to continue on with me? Or would you abandon us and our quest at this late juncture?"  
  
Jecht glares at him.  
  
"We're almost to the Holy Mountain, Gagazet," Braska adds. "On the other side waits Zanarkand. Perhaps _your_ Zanarkand."  
  
Jecht wants to say yes, that he's turning back, that he refuses to be a part of this insanity. But he has no one in this strange land but the men in front of him and no hope of ever doing anything if he doesn't at least _try_ \-- try to stop Braska, try to get home, try to stop Sin.   
  
"I'm going," he finally says and watches the relief that crosses over the summoner's face.   
  
"Thank you," Braska says.  
  
"Don't thank me, yet," he says. "Thank me when it's over and we _all_ come back."  
  
"If that's the way you want it," Braska agrees.  
  
"It is."  
  
As much as Jecht wants to turn around, he can't. He needs to see what's waiting at the end of the pilgrimage, if only because he has to believe that there's a permanent answer somewhere that the Yevonites have been too blind to see for the last thousand years. He refuses to accept that death and pain are the only options and that Spira's suffering can continue forever. They just need someone willing to look beyond the rules and the teachings, beyond the prayers and guilt. If Sin was meant to punish Spira for the fate of Zanarkand, who better than a man from Zanarkand to free them?   
  
If anyone can, Jecht believes it can be him that does it.  
  
As they once again resume their trek to the Calm Lands, Jecht holds on to that belief more strongly with every step they take toward Zanarkand.  
  
**  
  
IV. _How sad now, that he is caught in the tragic spiral. He is Sin. He is lost..._  
  
Jecht doesn't believe in giving up; he doesn't believe in giving in. And he never expected to hear himself agree to the kind of sacrifice he had once berated Braska about. But they arrived in Zanarkand and met with Yunalesca and everything changed.  
  
"Jecht," Auron says, one last plea, even after they've spent so much time arguing. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Just remember what you promised, okay?" he tells his friend. "I'll figure this out and, if you find a way, take care of my boy."  
  
"I will," he promises again. His face looks aged beyond its years, lined and furrowed, contorted by pain that only exists inside him. "If anyone can stop this," he says. "It's you, Jecht. I believe that."  
  
 _Glad one of us does_ is on the tip of Jecht's tongue but he turns away instead and follows Braska back into Yunalesca's chamber. She waits there in her room that somehow looks like the endless black sky, pale and glowing, as if her pyreflies long for the release of the death she keeps avoiding.   
  
"You have chosen?" she asks them.  
  
"Yes," Braska says.   
  
She looks through the other summoner instead of at him. "Go into the chamber and pray," she tells him. "I will call you when the Final Aeon is ready for you."  
  
Braska gives Jecht one last look, filled with so much, before he obeys the Great Summoner's ghost and leaves. Then it's just the two of them, him and Yunalesca, and he waits to meet whatever fate comes to those who choose to become the Final Aeon.   
  
Yunalesca does look at him, with her strange, translucent eyes. "You were once a dream," she said. "Now the dream becomes the fayth."  
  
"I'm not the guy for your speeches," he says. He uncrosses his arms from over his chest and stands ready. "Go for it."  
  
But she doesn't seem to be in a hurry. "You've made the right decision," she says. "You will keep hope and faith alive for Spira. It is a good death, an honorable one."  
  
"There's nothing honorable about any of this," Jecht tells her. "You've lied to these poor people for a thousand years and they think they're paying for some sin their ancestors committed and the only mistake they made was trusting in you."  
  
"Spira began this spiral themselves," she says with a dismissive wave of her white hand. "They challenged us and left us with nothing but our memories of what we used to be. Because of me, because of my father -- that is why you exist. Without us, you would not even be a dream."  
  
"One day it'll be over," he says. "And everyone will know and there won't be a speck of honor left for you or your father. You've already tortured these people for way too long."  
  
"Their punishment is fit," Yunalesca says, her face losing its careful blankness. "And I have not been without my own sacrifice. For the glory of Yevon, it is all fit."  
  
"You are a lunatic," Jecht tells her. He watches warily as she approaches him but refuses to step back or flinch. "And your days are numbered. I hope there's not a hell on the Farplane because you're going there if there is."  
  
"If you believe so, why have you agreed to become the fayth for the Final Aeon?" she asks. "You are only helping the cycle continue by doing so."  
  
"I plan to stop it," Jecht tells her. "This will be the end."  
  
She shakes her head. "You cannot end it. You will die and become the fayth and then you will become Sin, just as the last Final Aeon did. You will become the new armor for Yevon and he will continue to summon the Zanarkand-that-was and the spiral will spin on."  
  
"I might die," Jecht tells her. "And I might become the fayth and then the Aeon and then Sin, if that's the way this works. But I'm going to be the end. I'll make sure of it."  
  
"Why must you cling to these false hopes?" she asks. "There is one way and it is that of Yevon's. So it has been for a thousand years."  
  
"But not for another thousand years." Jecht makes sure that she cannot mistake the threat in his words. "Mark my words, Yunalesca. This is the last time you'll do this to somebody."  
  
"Your bravery is admirable," she says. "Even if your bravado is misplaced. You should not face your end with such anger. You should embrace it, and be glad that you can serve your creator in such a way. You are the dream made flesh by him and returned to him for his work."  
  
Jecht can only imagine what it must be like for this being who was once a woman, who now believes in the reverence she has exacted from a people downtrodden by a thousand years of torture. He's never lived a thousand years alone, a ghost that haunts the ruins of what was once a great city, always reminded of the loss of something irreplaceable. But he doesn't have much in the way of sympathy for her, not in the face of her cold words, not when he's seen what Sin has done to Spira for a thousand years. He once told Braska that he didn't understand why a summoner would be willing to die to stop Sin, even for a little while, but Jecht thinks he understands now. He's ready for his own death, if it somehow will let him keep his promise to Auron and free Spira from Sin for all eternity.  
  
Even in the face of this, Jecht's belief in himself does not waver. He _will_ stop this, once and for all.  
  
"If you're waiting for me to be happy about this, you might as get on with it," he tells her. "Because that ain't happening today or any other."  
  
"Very well," she says, drawing her hands together in a mockery of prayer. "The time has come, then."  
  
Jecht's not sure what to expect but suddenly he hears a chorus of singing -- the fayth -- and their voices twine together as they sing the Hymn, each note a mournful cry. Then there's a staff in Yunalesca's hands that appeared out of thin air and she approaches him with it, her weapon pointed in his direction.   
  
He steels himself for the end.  
  
Somehow the Hymn is louder in his ears as Yunalesca's staff touches his bare chest and there's a pain in that touch that exceeds anything he's ever felt before. There is light, there is pain, there is the fayths' dirge in his ears and, somehow, Yunalesca's quiet words. "...and through you, Yevon will rise again and our memories will not die."  
  
Jecht doesn't know if that's to be his last moment of consciousness but, just in case, he thinks of only one thing.  
  
Tidus.  
  
And then there is nothing.  
  
**  
  
V. _Sin is cursed. Sin prays. It curses its form, it prays for dissolution..._  
  
Nothing does not last for long and yet it lasts forever.  
  
Jecht is himself, but he is Sin. He is monster with a roaring sadness buried within him, a great beast with claws it once used to kill his dearest friend. He is a dream trapped within a dream, a prisoner chained to spend forever watching on the edges of the things he cannot stop. His mind isn't even his own, supplanted by Yu Yevon's unchanging litany of desires, barely words, barely thoughts.  
  
 _Summon. Destroy. Rest. Wait. Summon. Destroy._  
  
Jecht fights but he loses a little more each day -- of himself, of his hope, of his will, of his belief. He watches himself do things he cannot control, feels the pain of every life lost at the hands of the creature that beats in his chest.   
  
He knows it's only a matter of time before they'll be nothing left of him.  
  
But he is Jecht and he has promises to keep, and he hears them in the moments when he thinks he'll lose himself completely. And they remind him to fight a little longer, a little harder, for however long he can.  
  
Still, it's always there, waiting to engulf him. _Summon. Destroy. Rest. Wait. Summon. Destroy._  
  
And he screams back into the chasm, knowing there is no one to hear the last throes of his rebellion. All he can do is continue to fight, praying for an end that he can only hope comes soon.  
  
**  
  
 _Free him from Yu Yevon. Free him -- the fayth that has become Sin._

 

__-end-_   
_

**Author's Note:**

> The titles for each section are quotes from the fayth of Spira about Yevon/Sin/Jecht. Title comes from a quote ascribed to Buddha.


End file.
